


A New Distance, Level Eight: Fidelity

by Spadesjade



Series: Tom and Michelle [12]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Astrology, Camping, Catalina - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Foot Massage, Kissing, Meeting the Parents, Ping-Pong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spadesjade/pseuds/Spadesjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the struggle of the summer, fall comes and Tom becomes distant, which Michelle first writes off as stress due to his continuing hectic schedule.  Some new information makes her confront Tom about their future, if they even have one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dependency

June slid into July, and then into August. It wasn't until the beginning of August that I saw Tom again. 

It wasn't that we didn't talk. If we didn't talk every day we talked at least every other day, sometimes multiple times. It was work -- for Tom it was always work. The back to back filming of the Avengers movies was coming up and the promotion for Thor 3 was going to happen soon, as the Thor movies always opened in November, and the beginning of The Night Manager miniseries was going to premiere on AMC at the beginning of August and he was facing the real possibility of overexposure. Between "The Night Manager" in August, "I Saw The Light" in October and "Thor 3" in November, it was a traffic jam just waiting to happen. I could hear the "Jude Law" jokes rising.

Not to mention the havoc it was threatening to wreak on his health. 

When we talked, it was incidental stuff. What happened with our days, a funny story here or there, something we saw or read on the internet or a magazine or a book. Our lively conversations about life, about our pasts, about the things we wanted had started to fizzle. It wasn't that we didn't have things to say -- it was that the mood wasn't right to say them. And so when we ran out of conversation we started to look for reasons to get off the phone. 

I started to realize how new everything still was between us. It felt longer, but the reality of six months is not very long, not in the span of our lifetimes. What we'd felt so far was the blush of new love, new understanding, new situations. Sure, we'd even endured our first real fight and potential break-up. We had stated our intentions to endure, but in reality -- who knew? Promises were not unbreakable. Emotions were not forever.

Things were straining. I could feel it. Like birthing pains, a shifting of equilibrium, or the plates of the earth readjusting. All three brought disaster, but with the aftermath potential for something better. A new life, a new center, a new mountain to climb.

I admit, I didn't deal with it terribly well. I felt the widening of a hole in my chest, but I was afraid to say anything. I knew Tom was under pressure, I knew things were picking up, and I didn't want to add another problem to his plate. I knew I wasn't being wise -- but fear is sometimes stronger than anything. Fear had always been an issue with me. Being with Tom had helped me deal with it, but even when past evidence tells us we're making a mistake, that fear was strong enough to make me try to excuse my feelings.

My biggest excuse was -- it will pass.

The season would end. The Oscars would come early next year and the pressure would ease. Of course, if he won, he would be more in demand than ever. If he lost, he would be depressed -- I knew he'd take it personally, as much as maybe he would deny it, as much as he would know it wasn't personal -- he would be crushed. He would be crushed if he wasn't nominated. He would be crushed if the reviewers panned him as Hank. 

So I excused it as worry. I excused it as wanting what was best for him, wanting to support him and care for him and nurture him, because he needed those things. 

When he didn't talk to me, I gave him space. When he seemed tense, I let him excuse himself from whatever plans we'd been making. And even though he'd made good on his plans to come to L.A., by September, we were barely seeing each other once a week.

And the loneliness was killing me.

I started to question my own stability. When had my happiness grown so dependent on another human being? Sure, I cared about my friends, my family, but I had never let any of them define me before, determine my moods, my motivations. Being single had been lonely to a point, but I was okay on my own. I liked coming home after a busy day to a quiet apartment. I liked being able to choose when I could go help out at my brother's school or babysit my niece and nephew. I didn't mind going to the mall or to a movie alone, getting take out and being able to pig out without having to worry about what another person would think. I understood Tom's need for independence, I had it myself.

But I had never //felt// dependent on Tom until //now.// Which upset me. 

The fact that I continuously checked my phone for a message from him upset me.

The fact that I counted down when I was going to get to physically see him upset me.

The fact that I weighed a good or bad day against whether he had called me or not upset me.

And most of all, the fact that none of those things made me feel any better, upset me even more than before!

Yet I couldn't bring myself to say those four words of doom: "We need to talk."

But we did.

When my brother approached me at the beginning of October with an opportunity, I jumped at the chance. Every year, the eight grade class went to a science camp run on Catalina Island. Usually parents were asked to come as chaperones, but this year they were short. I was going to be going with one other woman teacher to supervise the girls, while the principal, my brother, and a young man who worked for the after school program came along. It was last minute -- he called on Sunday and we were leaving on Wednesday morning. But sometimes last minute opportunities are just what's needed.

It was a chance to get away for a few days and it happened to coincide with the first part of my six days off, which would give me a few days to recuperate. Considering we were going to be doing a lot of hiking, swimming, snorkeling, kayaking, as well as other various activities, I knew I'd need the rest.

"I'm going to be gone for a few days," I told him Monday night, one of the rare times I caught him when I called and didn't need to leave a message.

"Oh? Where?" he asked.

"Catalina," I said.

"You're not going parasailing without me, are you?" he asked, and I could hear his teasing tone. It made me feel a little lighter. Just a tiny bit of hope to keep me pushing back the inevitable, I supposed. 

"No, but I am going snorkeling and kayaking without you," I said, and proceeded to explain.

"Wow, you and how many thirteen year olds?"

"About twenty five," I said. "And I think some of them are fourteen."

"Even worse."

"Actually, they're pretty good kids. I helped my brother set up his classroom and met some of them on registration day and they seem to be a good group. Then I helped out with a field day where they needed volunteers to help with games and whatnot and they were nice to me."

"Hmmm." He was getting distracted again. I decided to let him go. 

"Well, I just wanted to let you know."

"When is this again? What days?"

"Um...Leaving on the twelfth, will be back on the fourteenth."

"Wow, that is last minute, that's this Wednesday you're leaving. What time, early, late, what?"

"Six thirty a.m. on the twelfth, and then back around 5 or so on the fourteenth."

"So not that long. I think I can get free tomorrow night, help you pack, we can spend some time before you go. I doubt you'll need all the stuff I did when I went to Africa but I don't think you do too much camping, do you, hummingbird?"

That nickname...I couldn't remember the last time he'd used it. My heart soared and then descended -- absence always makes the heart grow fonder. 

"No, not really."

"Okay, it's a date. And if you don't have some things we can always run to get them. I'll be there around the time you get home form work. I'll get some take-out, maybe some Jimmy Johns?"

"Subs so fast you freak," I teased. Daring to go the extra step, I asked, "Are they keeping you terribly busy?"

"It's all those fittings and things for the Avengers, it takes forever. Updates to costumes, make-up and hair choices, it's the pre-production stuff. Normally I like it, and I'm glad to be doing Loki again, but...well, you know how it goes, too much of a good thing?"

"They're doing both films back to back, right?"

"Yeah, we'll film until Christmas and then take a break and start back again on the second film just after the New Year. We get a month off between, so you'll get to see me for the holidays."

"Feels like old times," I said wistfully. "You filming Thor was what kept you here in L.A. long enough for us to get started."

Tom chuckled, his tone warm. "Just another reason to be grateful for Loki. "

I felt a distinct twinge, but decided I was being picky. //Just another reason.// He didn't mean it like that, I told myself.

"Okay then," I said. "I'll see you tomorrow night then?"

"What, are you in a hurry?" he asked. "Rushing me off the phone?"

I glanced at the clock. It was ten, and I had a little while until bedtime called, but I had a feeling that if we talked too much it was going to lead into a conversation I wasn't ready for. I could feel the discontent inside me starting to shift around and I'd say something casually that was actually pointed and he would pick up on it and ask and then I'd be stuck. 

"No, of course not, Tom," I said. "But you've been busy, and it's getting late, I thought you might be tired, I know I am."

"I am, but I can talk a few more minutes. Or are you too tired?"

"I'm okay. Actually, there is something I wanted to tell you -- there's a spot open for the team that works on infectious diseases. They started it up last year when the Ebola scare was going on. I've applied for the spot."

"To work on infectious diseases?"

"Yeah, they'd train me how to use the suits and everything."

"Sounds dangerous," Tom said. "I'm not sure I like that idea. It sounds like you're putting yourself at risk."

"Well, right now there aren't any epidemics happening, but if there were we'd be called on to help handle it. It's not a Hollywood movie, Tom, we're actually very well trained to keep from being exposed. And I haven't been accepted yet."

"And you weren't going to talk to me first?" He sounded distinctly annoyed. 

"Do you talk to me before picking a movie role?" I asked, shooting the annoyance right back at him. Small bolts of lighting licked down my spine and into my stomach. This wasn't what I wanted.

"That's not the same thing," Tom pointed out. "I haven't been doing my own stunts in a while, the insurance won't let me."

"No, but filming takes you away, sometimes to another country. Part of the Avengers is going to be on location, isn't it?"

"Still not the same thing, and that was all decided before we got together."

"So are you saying you'd come talk to me about going away on location before you took a job?"

"It depends on the job -- and even then, I'm not risking my life!"

"Tom, I risk my life by virtue of being in a hospital. How do you think epidemics get started? Somebody sick goes to a hospital -- that guy in Texas got those people sick because they were attending him! Hospitals are always the first line of risk."

"But what you're proposing is worse," Tom pointed out. 

"It's not a movie, Tom, it's real life. Movies exaggerate. And I've wanted to do this for a long time. I would never prevent you from doing something your heart was set on, even if I didn't like it."

"I still wish you'd at least discussed it with me," Tom said, and now I could hear the hurt. Shit. "I mean, considering we're talking about intertwining our futures."

"We haven't really talked much about anything lately, to be honest," I said, "especially not that."

"What, you want to get into this now?" I could hear the hostility boiling in his tone. I'd royally fucked up. 

"No, of course not. But the fact that you know there's something to get into...doesn't that say something?"

Silence. I could hear him breathing, imagine his nostrils flaring, the flush of red running up his neck. "I didn't mean for this to go pear-shaped. I guess we're both too knackered for this. Let's try again tomorrow."

"Fine."

Another pause. "I love you, Michelle."

I was, admittedly, rather stunned that he said it. I wasn't expecting him to, not after this argument, not considering how mad he'd gotten. 

"I love you too, Tom."

And he rang off.

I was more confused than ever. 

Tom must have been feeling it too, the way he reacted to me. He knew things were off, but he'd said he loved me. Even when he was angry or hurt, he'd said it.

And I loved him. I didn't quite know what to do.

\------------------

The first thing Tom did upon entering my apartment on Tuesday night was hug me. Tightly.

He stepped in, saw I was behind the door. He stopped just far enough to take the door from me and push it closed, then engulfed me. Arms tight, knees bent and at my hips, chin on my shoulder, cheeks pressed. 

I spent the first moment shocked. The second one wondering if I should shove him off. I don't know why that thought occurred to me, but it did. After all the distance and now he was clinging to me as if I were his lifeline. Not that Tom wasn't affectionate, but we'd gotten down to one armed hugs and pecks on the cheek in the last month. Also a source of my woes, because I knew Tom wasn't like that with other people; friends, fans, casual acquaintances, everybody knew how touchy-feely he was. 

The third thought, and the one that poked through, was to hug him back. I wrapped my arms around his ribs and pulled, and he straightened a bit, tucking me under his chin and pressing me against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said.

My heartbeat went erratic. "Could you be more specific?"

The vibration against my ear distinctly sounded like a chuckle. He lifted up his head, let me pull back just enough to look up at him, but didn't let me go. His arms moved up to cradle me along my back, one of his big hands spanning across one of my shoulder-blades, fingers moving idly over the fabric of my T-shirt.

"I'm serious," I said, my hands on his hips. "What are you apologizing for?"

"Was there more than one thing?" he asked with a frown.

"If by the one thing you mean the turn our conversation took last night, then no, but if there was something particular..."

"I'm sorry I've been distant," he said. "It's...it's not easy for me to...maintain...look, can we sit down?"

He kept his arm around me as we went to sit on the couch. He grasped my knee and hooked it over his to keep us closer, as I wanted to keep eye contact with him as we talked.

"This is hard for me," he admitted. "I know I come across as so open and...expressive. But times like this, when I have to push deeper. It's difficult. I'm not used to...I've never allowed a relationship to get this far before and I don't know how to navigate it."

"What about Susannah?" I asked softly. "You were together for two years."

The corner of Tom's upper lip twitched to the side. "We never talked about...well, we did but we didn't...I didn't let her in this far, to be honest."

"This far?"

"As far as I've let you in." The last words were delivered with straight on eye contact. I felt a shudder pass through me. 

I reached for his other hand and pressed it between mine. "Whatever you tell me, Tom," I said, knowing something big was coming, "we can work through it. You can trust me."

"I know," he sighed, looking down at our hands. "I've...always known that. I've known that from the beginning, I'm not sure how. I've always felt our relationship was intuitive, and it's been so natural and I don't think I've allowed myself too much time to process it because I know myself and my patterns and somehow I'll convince myself to cut and run. But I can't do that to you," he said, meeting my eyes again. 

"You have been distant," I said softly.

"Things are building," he told me. "And I was starting to worry that I wouldn't be able to give the time to us and the time to my career, and I've always been so focused on my career, and so many things are happening in it now, and all I can see is how it's going to take time away from us, talking about the things we want to talk about, considering our future, and that is...it's so opposite of what I know of myself that I admit...I've been a bit freaked out. And I have no idea how to tell you without making it sound like the 'we need to take a break' speech, which is the last thing I want, but I know things are going to be so busy for a while, and..." He sighed again, deeply. "I don't know if I make sense."

"You make sense," I said, reaching for his chin to turn his face back to me. "You want both things. You want us and you want the success that is coming your way. It's normal. You've worked hard for both and you feel like you have to choose, but you can't."

His eyes brightened. "See? This is what I mean. You just know. And that absolutely terrifies me."

I nodded. "What if you didn't have to choose?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It's about balance, Tom. You've been getting better about that. I know you overwork yourself sometimes but you do take a break when you need it. You've been slowly giving yourself gaps between jobs so that you can be prepared. If you make sure you schedule things properly--"

"That's just the thing, schedules are usually nightmares and they change. It's why I always tried to adapt the attitude of not making plans and just hanging, but that only works for the big picture, not when you're working and promoting and trying to build a future with someone all at once."

"I'm not going anywhere, Tom," I assured him.

"No, see, that's always...you say that now but there will always be something, Michelle."

I'd told myself that many times. 

"So I made a decision," he said. "I've decided that after this coming March, I'm not going to take another job until Fall."

I scowled. "Are you sure?"

"Between two films and all the promotion, I'll need a break."

"But what if you win the Oscar? You'll be swamped with offers!"

"Which means they'll wait for me until August, if I'm so important."

I shook my head. "Tom, I don't want to hold you back."

He turned to me, pulling me closer. "Michelle, you know how committed I am to work. Why would I be any less committed to you? I am going into this with both feet and I'm going to do it right. I don't want to end up like..."

At his choke, I reached up, cradling his face between my hands. "Like your parents?" I whispered.

He shook his head, but it wasn't a denial. "I don't want to fail you."

I stared at him for a very long moment, processing what he'd just said. And then, something hit me.

"It's not about me, Tom," I said.

He blinked at me. "Come again?"

I unhooked my knee from over his so that I could turn to him fully. I didn't want to distance myself from him, but this needed to be clear.

"I've been killing myself for months, honestly," I said, my words wandering in an effort to get where I wanted to go, "about //why me.// Why after all that time, why that night, why you suddenly decided that you and I were going to try for a long term commitment, of all the people you've known and the women you've been with, why you decided on me. And the more I get to know you, the more things make me wonder. Because I'm not some savior, Tom. I'm not some princess or vision or any of those things. And don't--" I said, stopping him as I saw his face darken, "try and make this about my self-image issues because I'm not saying that. I'm not saying I don't deserve you. It isn't about deserving, because if it was, it would be a question of you deserving me."

That flustered him for a moment. "What are you on about?" Deceptively calm. I knew I was skirting the edge but I was going to jump and pray the pit wasn't bottomless.

"You and I have major issues. I'm not saying we're hopeless, but I am saying that we are going to take some work. You and I have both been used to a certain amount -- okay, a very great amount -- of independence. And now we're not anymore. Now there's another person to consider at every turn, and I know it hasn't been easy for me. And honest to God, Tom, I have no idea what that's been like for you. I mean, you tell me things about the past when they come up, but we talk more about having conversations than actually having them. And these last couple of months, it feels like we've gone in absolutely the opposite direction, and I know I've been remiss in saying things about it to you because I worried I'd just be adding more to your heaping plate. Which I also suspect is a defense mechanism to keep you from getting too deep into any relationship."

"I just admitted that!" Tom shot back, but he still seemed too stunned to be angry. He was watching me like an animal that might attack but might not, his expression shifting from annoyed to defensive to curious and even tender at some moments. "I made a decision I thought was going to help!"

I drew a breath. "I acknowledge that, and I'm grateful. But I think we've been coasting on too much good feeling and squirming away from the more difficult aspects because somewhere along the line, we both got it into our heads how an ideal relationship should work. We don't want anything to get...squicky."

"Squicky?"

"It's a word. I've had a few blinders on when it comes to you and it's taken me some time to realize you're not Prince Charming, you're a man. And it used to bug me to think that you looked around one day and decided it was time to settle down, and happened to pick me because I seemed dependable."

"God, Michelle, no--!"

"I'm not done! My point is, Tom, it can't be about failing //me.// It's about failing //yourself.// You decided, for some reason, that you wanted what you had been avoiding, that you were ready to attempt pushing that boundary that always terrified you. And so did I. And Divine Providence brought us together. But it's not a done deal. We both have to grow up. And we both have to work at this. If you've decided to get your shit together, and I have too, then we can do this together. But if you're looking into the haze and seeing that the dream isn't turning out to be the pretty fantasy you've wanted, then you need to bail now, Tom. Because it's going to hurt like fucking hell and I want to get it over as soon as possible."

He pushed back his curls. He seemed almost...teary. I knew my words had been harsh, but I'd struggled to keep my tone even. 

"I feel like we had this conversation in reverse," he finally said, his eyes a bit glazed. 

"I'm just afraid you're expecting things from me I can't give, and vice versa," I said in a gentler tone. "If you want this relationship, Tom, it has to be as much for yourself as for me. If you want to take time for it, it has to be for your own ends, not just because you think it's what I want."

"Do you want it?" he asked, his tone fragile.

"Yes," I said confidently, taking his hand. "I would never have said any of these things to you if I didn't. I love you, Tom, and I'm proud of you, and I want to support you, and I want you to be successful. But I also want you to be healthy and fulfilled and truly happy. I want good things for you. I want them enough to know that if I'm not one of them..." God that thought hurt too much to finish.

His hand left my grip to snake his arms around my shoulders. "I don't pretend to completely understand all of this," he said. "And that's not something I admit easily."

"I know."

"And I feel I have made it very clear that I love you and want you."

"You have...before. Lately, not so much."

"I told you in the beginning that being with me would be difficult." His fingers moved up, the backs of them stroking my cheek as he talked. "I didn't just mean as an actor's girlfriend. But I want to make it work with you. Because this makes me happy -- no, that's not even the right word. It makes me feel accepted." His thumb grazed the curve of my top lip. "It makes me feel understood. And no, it's not all that I envisioned it would be. And I know that sacrifice is part of it, although I have no idea how..."

"Honestly, neither do I," I reminded him. "I'm learning too. Every day. But if we're together, we have to do it, together. And I don't want to feel like the needy girlfriend chasing after you, nagging you...."

"I don't mind you needing me," he said with a hint of a smile.

"You say that now," I trailed off with a sigh. "It isn't that I don't want to need you, Tom. I just want you to want me to need you. That sounds...God that sounds corny..."

"No, I understand," he sighed. "It's so easy to apply the challenge aspect of things when it comes to work," he contemplated. "Because those are temporary and they end. But this is ongoing, and...I'm usually not afraid of not knowing how it's going to turn out, but..."

"It's never going to be a done deal, Tom," I said. "That bugs the hell out of me, too. But I think, if I knew I could count on you, and I know if you're in this, I can, I've never doubted that...but lately..."

"Yes, I know. I...even when I get distant, Michelle, even when it seems like I'm not interested in you or I get choked up and don't know what to say, how to tell you what I'm thinking and feeling...promise me you won't forget that I'm devoted to you. That isn't going to change."

I blinked through the sudden tears that sprang to my eyes. "I want to remember, Tom. And will you please remember...I don't want to put you in a cage. I want to be a part of you, not your...ball and chain." I straightened, starting to pull away. "Look, I've...we've both got things going on. I think these next couple of days will be a good time for us to think about things. And maybe this weekend, or next, when you can get some time, we can stop talking about having a conversation and actually have the conversation, you think?"

He let me go. His eyes still seemed sad. 

"Maybe we can just try to have a nice few hours together?" he asked. "I've...I have missed you, you know."

"I've been right here," I told him, attempting a breezy smile before caressing his cheek and standing up. I remembered he'd been carrying a bag when he came in, he'd put it down by the door by the key dish. "Did you get the sandwiches for dinner, like you said?" I tossed out, shifting the mood.

"Yeah. Let's get you packed up first, though."  
\-----------------------------

Tom made sure I was packed and ready to go by the time he left. We had to run out to Dicks Sporting goods to find "a head torch," he said. "You have to have a head torch. It's a must." He also bought a sleeping bag for me, extra big, and I smuggled an extra comforter and pillow into the pack. Even though I was going for three days, I packed for six, including two pairs of shoes, one for hiking and a pair of flip flops for shorter walks and to use as impromptu slippers. There were showers so I brought a towel for that, and another for the beach.

The next morning Matthew and Iris picked me up, the kids having spent the night at Iris' mother's house so she could take us to the school and not have the car sit in the school parking lot for three days. The students were already raring to go, all excited and chatty. They welcomed me with excitement, glad to have another woman around.

And then I got a migraine. 

I knew it was from the stress with Tom, but it hit me hard on the bus nonetheless. I took Excedrin but even when the worst past I was left feeling shaky and sensitive. By the time we reached Long Beach, from where the boat for Catalina was embarking, my vision was clear but my stomach was wobbly.

The rocking of the boat didn't help.

It was a rough transit to Catalina. The waters were choppy and half the students were seasick. But the funny thing about seasickness was that the second you're on land, it evaporates. We docked in Cherry Cove and were munching happily on sandwiches by lunch, vomiting forgotten. 

The next few days were blurry, but filled. That afternoon, we looked at microscopic organisms using microscopes hooked up to televisions, which was my personal favorite activity. Then we went hunting through a tidepool, which was located on the other side of a ridge, which meant a steep ascent and an even steeper descent -- which I was convinced was going to be the death of me coming back up. Thankfully my brother stuck around to make sure I got back up the cliff. 

"Did you talk to Mom?" I asked when we stopped for a break. It was truly beautiful, I pondered, looking directly out over the Pacific Ocean. Even though there was nothing between us and a pretty nasty drop, I didn't feel dizzy or worried about falling -- it was too pretty for that. 

"About what, Tom?" Mattie chuckled. "Yeah, finally managed to get her to lower her hackles." He paused. "She's just protective of you, you know."

"If by protective, you mean controlling and dominating, sure," I grumbled. "But to be honest she did help me out. She drives me nuts -- I wish she could be that rock I could count on all the time. Why does she have to be so unpredictable?"

We climbed up a few more dozen feet. We were almost at the top. It wasn't so much that it was far, but it was very, very sheer, like going straight up. 

"You're not so rock steady yourself, you know," Mattie pointed out when I stopped to breathe again. "You're lucky he's willing to be dramatic for you."

"Was Mom mad?"

"She was making all kinds of predictions that you two were going to break up, celebrities were fickle, etc. And Dad wasn't much help, saying your boyfriend is an Aquarian and you know how they are."

I whirled around. "What? Dad had a say?"

"I think he did his chart. You know how Dad is. Still has some of his old quirks from the sixties."

While we had always been devout Catholic, Dad had always had a thing for astrology. He always said, "The stars impel, they don't compel." Our future didn't depend on the stars, but they did give pushes. And horoscopes, while they shouldn't be used to try and see what's happening tomorrow, were useful when it came to insight.

My dad had always done charts for all of my friends to see if we were compatible. Usually, his predictions were right. But over the last half dozen years or so, I'd gotten away from his habits and to be reminded of them now, in our current situation, was a bit startling.

"What did he say about Tom?" I asked just after we reached the top. 

Mattie shrugged. "Something about...Aquarians and how they run hot and cold. They seem all put together and are gracious and charming to the people on their peripheral, but underneath are a bundle of emotional insecurities and often have intimacy issues with the people they're closest to."

"//Something about,//" I mocked. "Did you write it down?"

"You weren't the only one indoctrinated into synastry," he reminded me.

"Your chart with Iris was good," I pointed out. "Did he do mine and Tom's?"

"Don't know, why don't you ask him," Mattie replied as we hit the decline of the hill, back toward the beach. "Right now, I think maybe we should enjoy a bit of the ocean, water is beautiful right now, not too cold. Still has some of that summer warmth."

\------------------

I had gone through a rather rebellious phase where I thought my Dad's astrology predictions were utter bullshit. However, when his predictions about clashes I'd have with friends came true time and again, I had to reconsider. Of course, there was also the possibility of self-fulfilling prophesy, I would always point out to him. He would just grin and shrug. "You're free to think it's crap," he would always say. "You always are."

Mattie was right. The ocean water had been beautiful.

We swam, and then went back to the camp and showered. Camp consisted of two rings of two person tents, each one up on its own wooden platform with picnic tables in the middle. Showers had warm water and toilets instead of outhouses, so it was already a step up from Girl Scout Camp. Then we went down to dinner, and afterwards we dissected squid.

Which was sufficiently awesome to take my mind off of Tom. 

The students were just as enthusiastic about it as me, which led to many conversations about my work. We continued our chatter even as we made our way toward the campfire grounds, where we roasted marshmallows and looked at the stars. You could even see the faint trail of the Milky Way, a truly astounding thing that close to Los Angeles.

Finally we stumbled back to camp and to bed. The girls idly talked while the boys went a bit wild. I crawled into my sleeping bag on my cot and passed out...

...for about three hours. Then I was wide awake.

Tom had admitted to those intimacy issues, I realized. Last night, he'd confessed them to me. But he seemed determined to grow up and really try with me. I had to give him a fair chance. I had to help him. But I couldn't make him. He had to do it himself, for himself, not for me.

I knew I'd been right.

The next day I stayed behind from the morning hike, getting a short nap in since I'd been awake half the night. I met the group down by the beach where we played in the water again...and then went to lunch with them, before heading back to the beach to go snorkeling.

I couldn't get the stupid rubber pants on. They were supposed to be tight, but I lacked the arm strength to get them up my legs. Luckily they were more for warmth than anything so I didn't need them. The "dinner jacket," as the overjacket was called, was enough to keep me afloat. I didn't like the flippers, as they kept capsizing me, and left them behind, but I regretted it later as I couldn't get enough speed in my swim to keep up with the group. Thankfully Mattie came to my rescue once again with a boogie board and hauled me back into the group.

After dinner, the students did an activity about sharks, and then we had an early night again because we were kayaking early the next morning. I had canoed as a girl scout so I was familiar with how it worked, but I lacked the speed to keep up. I missed Tom in that moment -- if he'd been there he would have propelled us single handedly and all I'd have had to do was hold on. Instead I hung back with one of the camp counselors and enjoyed the ocean.

Finally it was time to head home. The boat ride back to Los Angeles was much, much smoother, but exhaustion had set in by the time we got on the bus, and most of the kids fell asleep. When we turned the corner for the school, I saw someone standing on the corner, dressed in a pair of dark ray bans and a blue Angels baseball cap. 

I was the first one to stumble off the bus and into Tom's waiting arms. "You're here!" I said, too exhausted to be loud.

"Of course I am, somebody needed to pick you up," he said, cocking back his cap and lifting the glasses to rest across the brim. 

I didn't fully realize how completely exhausted I was until I felt how Tom was holding me. But I'd been swimming in ocean water and hadn't bathed the previous night, and I knew I couldn't be all that fresh. I started to pull back.

"You smell salty," he commented with a wink.

"I should," I replied. "There's a drought, and so all the water being used for cleaning is basically filtered ocean water, even though it was heated. And I spent so much time in the ocean I'm sure it's permeated."

I noticed one of the girls, Daisy, out of the corner of my eye, looking at Tom with growing recognition. "Ohmygod it is him!" she said, her voice too stunned to be loud. 

"Hey, guys," Matthew said, stepping in from where he'd been hugging Iris and his kids. "Let's not go nuts, okay?"

Tom looked down at me, concerned. "A few selfies won't hurt, will they?" I whispered at him. "Or are you too tired?"

"Me? I'm concerned about you."

"It's okay," I said, pulling back from where I'd practically been hanging on him. "Gives me a chance to say hi to my niece and nephew."

Tom spent the next twenty minutes taking selfies with the kids, mostly the girls, while I wandered onto the playground to play with my niece and give her some much needed attention, considering she was still adjusting to being a big sister. Admittedly, she was fantastic at it. She entertained her brother, watched him when Mommy needed to step out of the room, and helped in every way she was asked. But she was still in need of being a kid, so I swung her around a bit and we giggled over how her brother made such stinky smells on the changing table, and how Daddy wouldn't let her put her dolls clothes on him even though they seemed to be his size. 

I felt the exhaustion seep back in, and scooped her up into my arms and turned to head back to her mom and dad. Tom stood at the edge of the gate, watching me with a smile.

"Here I thought you'd be tired," he teased me lightly.

"I am exhausted," I said, putting the little girl down. "But for this one, I'd do anything." I tugged one of her brown locks and she playfully swatted my hand before running for her dad again. 

"Come on," Tom said, pulling me tight against his side. "Let's get you home."

"I want a real shower," I whined.

"And food, I'm sure."

"Actually, they fed us pretty well. Of course we ate like horses because we were constantly doing something all day."

"So no food then?"

"Chocolate," I said. "I've been snack deprived. They wouldn't let us keep snacks in the tents because of the foxes. One girl threw away stale Oreos in our trash on the last night and this morning the trash was all over our deck."

"Foxes? Did you see any of them?"

"Oh yeah, thanks to your head torch." I yanked out my phone. "I also got some impressive pictures of a buck and a doe."

Tom thumbed through the pictures. "Wow, look at those antlers. It's like he posed for you!"

"It was!" I agreed as he got into Tom's rental car. "It was like he stood there waiting for me to get that picture, and as soon as I lowered the camera, he moved on!" I nudged him with my elbow. "Like a few celebrities I know."

"Anything bigger than foxes on the island?" he asked.

"No, but there were some big hawks."

"No bears?"

"No, thank God...but there were sea lions when we kayaked." I leaned back into the seat, closed my eyes.

I felt Tom squeeze my knee, and then I drifted off.

\---------------------------

Somehow, he got me inside my apartment. He gently took my keys from me and unlocked the door. He walked me, firmly grasping my shoulders, into my little hallway, which led to both the bedroom and a bit farther down, the bathroom. There was a connecting door, the knob of which he grabbed as he backed out.

"You shower, get into some pajamas. I'll get your luggage and some dinner sorted, okay?"

I nodded. He gave me that little wink and shut the door.

I immediately stripped, went into the bathroom, and turned on the water. I had only packed travel sized toiletries so everything was still in my bathroom and ready to go. I scrubbed off the salt, the stink of the last three days. But when I bent down to clean my feet, that was when I felt it.

It's amazing how the body had do so much for such a sustained period, but the second you stop, the muscles harden. I'd been prone too long, and being asleep had only made all the aches and pains come out. And for some awful reason, I couldn't bend over far enough to scrub off my feet.

And they were filthy. The entire campgrounds was just packed dirty with a few wooden walkways, and even those were covered with dirt, and mix that with water and you get mud. I'd been on the move constantly for three days and some of that dirt had seemed to make itself a second layer of my skin. All the work I'd taken to improve the appearance of my feet, since I preferred being barefoot and didn't want Tom to be grossed out, was undone. I could feel the rough skin on my heels, and even though I dropped my sponge and scrubbed my feet against it while standing up, it wasn't enough.

I was too fucking tired to deal.

Deciding I would have to be content with slippers, I gave up and turned off the water. I had nearly drained my little hot water tank anyway, and it was just in time. I toweled my hair, got into my pajamas, and managed to dig up my slippers without expending too much precious energy. Then I slogged my way to the couch, where Tom had fluffed up my pillows and laid out my comforter. I threw myself down but didn't want to lie down -- I didn't want to pass out on him so quickly.

"Sorry to be a drag on your Friday night," I said as Tom emerged from the kitchen with a tray table. 

"You can make it up to me next week, and we'll go dancing," he said, pulling up a napkin and tucking it around my neck. I looked down at it in amusement, and then back up at him, eyebrow raised. "I have pasta. And I know you get clumsy when you're tired, I didn't want you to make a mess on your clean pajamas," he explained with a shrug.

I was ridiculously touched. And a bit unnerved by the details he always seemed to notice about me. 

The pasta was fantastic -- tortellini that had been sautéed oil, garlic and parsley, from my favorite restaurant. He must have picked it up before coming to get me, and then reheated it when I was cleaning up. He perched beside me and munched out of the same container -- the portions were always inhumanly large, so I didn't mind.

When I was done and leaning back, groaning with how I'd eaten too much, Tom dropped a tied plastic bad in my lap -- filled with something heavy. I eyed him and then whined as I poked at the bag, unable to open it.

"I'm...too...tired...!"

He sighed, exasperated but grinning, and ripped the bag open for me. Inside the familiar brown and copper wrappings of the Lindt sea salt and caramel chocolate bars I adored were winking up at me. I found a burst of strength and got one open, consuming half the thing before I took my next breath.

"Want some milk?" he asked, his amusement palpable.

I only nodded.

He took the tray away and returned with a glass of cold milk. Then he stopped, staring at my feet. 

"Where did you get those?"

I looked down at my slippers -- soft, furry, blue. "What, these?"

"They look like Cookie Monster's feet," he chuckled. "I've never seen you wear slippers before, even when it's freezing."

I shrugged. "Felt like it."

He handed me the milk, and eyed me warily. Then without warning, he reached down and pulled one off.

"Tom!"

"Your feet are still dirty."

I busied myself with drinking my glass of milk for a minute, even as he stared at me, waiting. When I finished, I wiped the moustache from my lip and sighed.

"I tried to clean them. But I was achy and I couldn't...stay bent over to scrub long enough. Oh forget it , just put my slipper back on."

He seemed to take this in with more amusement, and then, chuckling lightly to himself, went into the bathroom. He returned with a towel and the tub of wipes I kept beside the toilet.

"Tom, it's okay," I said. "I'll go get a pedicure this weekend, it'll be fine."

He didn't speak. Instead he folded himself on the floor, and pulled my feet onto his crossed legs. The towel was damp, and he went to work on the clinging spots of dirt, using the wipes to get the worst of it. He got between the toes, and even massaged the soles of my feet. 

And it was heavenly.

"Not so bad, once the dirt is gone," he said as he pressed hard into the center of my foot. Whatever answer I may have had was forgotten and only a groan made it past my lips. With those nimble fingers of his, he worked loose the muscles in one foot, and then the other. 

Somewhere along the line I closed my eyes and just let myself revel in it. I don't know how long it was before I blinked my eyes open and saw him sitting at my feet, resting his elbows on my knees. He was grinning at me. 

"What?" I asked, rubbing at my face.

"You were snoring a little bit," he said. 

I rotated my jaw, knowing that if I had been snoring sitting up my jaw had been hanging open as well. Feeling a rush of heat in my cheeks, I murmured, "Sorry."

He shook his head, still grinning. "I hope I still find you this adorable when we're both old and wrinkly."

"You won't," I sighed. "You won't find me this adorable in five years, let alone fifty."

"Ever the cynic," he sighed back, grasping my hands and placing my palms against his cheeks. I curled my fingers into his soft hair, feeling the roughness of his scruff against the heels of my hands. As I stared back into his eyes, I felt a cocktail of emotions -- affection, love, warmth, frustration, hurt, and even a bit of anger.

He turned his cheek and pressed kisses first to one palm, and then the other. I felt pangs running through my chest. This would pass. This sweetness, this light. It would pass and who knew what would take its place? Resentment, anger, frustration, monotony, the downward pull of human frailty taking its course. Did we rush into things? Say things too soon? Make promises we couldn't keep? I couldn't blame Tom for wanting his freedom, for wanting to be in control of his life, I wanted those things too. The thought of being tied to him, as much as he overwhelmed me now, still gave me pause. I didn't want to trap him, any more than I wanted to be trapped.

And yet I did. I wanted to be fused to him. I wanted to be the same person as him.

I never liked Hemmingway. In high school I'd been forced to read "A Farwell To Arms" and I had hated it, hated every stupid dry boring word. I hated the heroine, whose name I couldn't remember, who I thought was weak and shallow and uninteresting, because Hemmingway was a misogynist who had no idea what women were, how they thought, why they acted the way they did. The moments of the book that were clearest to me were the heroine's attempts to make herself over to be exactly like her lover, the narrator. I remember being repulsed by it, repulsed by her lack of being, by her lack of establishing her as herself.

And now she made sense. I understood that desire. Was it a weakness? Was it a strength? Or was it just woman's urge to return to where she came from, Adam's rib? Or was I a victim of the patriarchy to even be thinking of "woman" in that state?

I was waxing philosophical in my slap-happy state. And with the way Tom was listening to me, with that Face of his, I realized that I was saying all these musings out loud. I hoped I hadn't said much before Hemmingway.

"I don't get it either, Michelle," he whispered. "It's as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. But having it with you, talking about it, trying to understand it, live it, solve it...I meant everything I said to you before you left. I stand by it. I choose you, for myself, for you, for us. I don't know what's going to happen, either. But I'm choosing to trust you anyway. I hope you will give me the same."

I nodded, too tired to say anything else. Then I leaned forward, pushing him back slightly.

"You need to go," I said. "I have to go to bed."

He nodded, his face falling slightly in disappointment, but I cupped his cheeks again and pulled him back toward me, kissing his high forehead, then his cheeks, then his lips. I stroked his soft curls, then reached down and grasped him by the shoulders, bunching the fabric of his shirt in my grip.

"I love you," I said. "Mattie told me that on Sunday he's taking the kids to my parents for a barbeque. Want to come? It'll be the perfect time."

He nodded and smiled before getting up. "Yeah."


	2. Synastry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet Michelle's parents! More drama abounds, but Tom and Michelle wind up reconnecting over some of the oddest things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so generally, things have been slipping with these two lately and I ain't gonna promise no more angst because lately Michelle's just been crying her fool head off (in the next installment) and I can't quite figure out how to make her stop. But I'm tying to fix it (in this installment) so I hope you like. I'm sure you'll tell me. :) And that's okay.

Truth be told, I thought to myself as I sat in the back yard of my parents' house in Victorville, on the bench against the back wall of the house, it was rather ridiculous to believe those twinkling little lights up there had any say at all over our lives.

But then again there were a lot of mysteries in the world. 

I found myself wishing, for a half-second, for one of my dad's e-cigs. 

I'd never taken up smoking. In my opinion it was a nasty, smelly habit. But my dad, in his efforts to quit smoking, which he'd accomplished, had temporarily switched to e-cigs. Not the little ones that looked like fake cigarettes, but the big ones, the ones you had to refill with little glass tubes full of the liquid. The ones that let out clouds of pleasant-smelling water-smoke, and didn't burn your lungs.

During my last few years in college, when things had gotten rather intense, I'd snuck one of his nicer ones and played around with it, ordering different refills for it on line. I gave it up immediately after graduation, knowing I was heading for a bad habit. Those things were supposed to help smokers, not create new ones. 

In times like this, though, a smoke would have been nice. Relaxing. I needed to relax.

Tom and my dad had been talking for damn near an hour. I had no idea how much longer they could be. 

Mattie and Iris had left with the kids right before Dad had pulled Tom into his web of a study. My mother paced nervously for a bit, cleaning the kitchen, getting some laundry started, anything to occupy her. Then she'd come out here to sit with me on the bench for a bit, before heading back inside again, deciding she was just going to get ready for bed and to hell with it.

She had loved Tom. All of that worrying had been for nothing -- Tom's near-tantrum over what he was going to wear to meet my parents, not wanting to be too casual even though I was in a t-shirt and jeans, because that was how it rolled in my house. If I showed up all dressed up it would have put more pressure on, and I didn't want that. I tried to explain it to him during that hour and a half drive from Los Angeles out to the desert, and he seemed to get it, although I could tell he was still tense.

Winning Mom over had been too easy, in my opinion. Maybe it was how Tom had kissed her cheek, charmed her with that smarmy British magnetism, bent over backwards to be gracious and a good guest, or maybe it was just that he was a magical unicorn and had cast a spell over her, who knew?

But not Dad. 

Sure, Dad was polite. Dad was always polite. He could fake it with the best of them. He could smile and laugh like he was your best friend and turn around later and admit that you were probably not worth the scrapings under his toenails. He said all the right things, paid attention, but I could see it. I knew my dad too well, and after we'd eaten ourselves into a partial coma, I'd cornered him in his study.

"You don't like him," I had accused.

Dad held up his hands. "I didn't say anything."

"You've been a glacier all day. I've seen you show more warmth to atheists trying to prove to you that Evolution is how the world was made. What's wrong? Did he do something?"

Dad hemmed and hawed, but in the end, he admitted it. "I just don't trust the guy, Shelly."

I almost laughed. "Seriously? This is the first man I've ever liked enough to bring home, and you're telling me you don't like him? Seriously? Do you have any idea how hard this was for me?" My incredulity melted away to reveal a rock hard layer of anger underneath. "This is a really important thing to me and you're shitting all over it! Of all the people I never expected you to do this to me--"

"Now, just simmer down there, Michelle," he chastised me. He went to his computer and fiddled with a few keys. "I've done a bit of research on your boyfriend. First of all, he's a complete and utter attention whore."

I sighed, hands on my hips. "He's an actor, Dad. They're all like that, aren't they? Why the hell else would you pick a career where your sole objective is to get people to watch you?"

"Fair enough. But I did his chart--"

"I know."

"Well, then you tell me, Shelly. What did I find?"

I shrugged. "Aquarians. Impulsive, passionate, controlling. Warm and wonderful to everyone, but cold and reserved to the people they love the most. But he's not like that, Dad, I mean, he has his moments but he's been wonderful to me. You know how difficult I can be."

"Yes, I know." Dad sat down in his desk chair, motioned for me to take the recliner in front of his desk. "Look, I'm not going to get into all the nitty gritty. I'm your father, I'm supposed to be protective. I've seen how much you care about this guy and I'm just scared for you, that's all. I don't trust him because he's bringing you into a world that is going to be ten times more difficult than what you would be in, in a normal relationship."

"We've been together since the New Year, Dad," I pointed out. "I know that already."

Dad flapped a hand at his computer screen. "Well, you've obviously managed to stay out of the limelight because I didn't find much on you linked to him. He just...he has a lot of opportunities, Michelle -- or should I say, temptations? And he seems to be very good at keeping the less savory parts of him out of the press. Which means he's good at hiding things. Or he has the best PR team ever."

"Talked about it, more times than I care to count. I can't live in paranoia. I have to trust him."

"True, but there is one thing. It's in his chart, how much he loves his independence. And I'm just worried about how a man like that is going to settle down with someone. Especially someone like you."

"Someone like me?" I echoed.

"Someone who has a center," Dad amended. "Someone who knows the rules and the stakes and strives to discipline themselves, giving up lesser goods for greater ones. I can imagine you two have wonderful conversations and stimulate each other intellectually, but he's got a libido, and worse he's an actor with a libido, and those guys aren't known for saying no. You've been together ten months? If he's gone without for ten months, Michelle..."

"Dad," I said, a warning tone entering my voice. I rarely lost my temper with my father but he was pushing it too hard.

"Well, I know I'm not in a position to judge him, but it just strikes me as very...off. Even if I hadn't done his chart, I'd suspect something."

We fell silent for a moment.

"So are you not going to support me?" I asked in a very small voice. 

It may have seemed like a strange question, but it wasn't. Dad knew what I was asking. 

"Sweetheart, I would be the last person on the planet to try and push you away from someone you loved," he said. "And if you and Tom continue on in your relationship, I will always support you, and I will put all the effort I have to accepting and welcoming him. But I am worried about you. I'm worried about you getting hurt, which is my prerogative. I'm worried about you investing yourself too deeply into him and him being unable to give back to you what you want. Not because he wouldn't love you, because I know once he decides to stick with you, those Aquarians are die-hard loyal. He will be devoted to you. But how he expresses it...it might not be what you want. And I don't want you to be unhappy."

"You think he'd cheat on me?" I whispered.

Dad gave a half shrug. "Any man, in the right circumstances, will cheat," Dad said.

"Even you?"

"I'm a sinner like all the rest. The grace of God has sustained me all these years. And your mother. But my spirit isn't as restless as this man's. Maybe, in time, when you've adjusted to each other, when he truly lets you in, as I suspect he has a hard time doing, and he realizes what will really make him happy, he'll have one of those turnabouts that people like him sometimes have. But it's going to take a lot of work."

"Any marriage takes work," I said.

"Yours will take a bit more than average. And a lot of forgiving."

I sighed. Then, slowly, I started to tell him about my conversation with Tom a few nights ago. About how Tom had owned up to everything my dad had just said. How he had acknowledged it, and still said he wanted to try.

When I was done, Dad looked at me, and said, "I'd like to talk to him."

So I dutifully went and got Tom, from where he'd been holding my nephew Stephen and helping with the bottle, and told him my dad wanted to talk to him. It had been interrupted by Mattie and company's farewell, but soon the study door was shut.

After forty-five minutes had passed, I couldn't take anymore and went outside, determined to wait it out.

At an hour, I had started wishing for an e-cig.

And now, at an hour an fifteen, I was ready to just go break down the door and demand to know what the hell was taking so long.

Just as I turned, getting ready to stand, the back door swung open and Tom stepped out.

"Hey!" I whispered, suddenly a giant rolling ball of anxiety, worse than before.

"Hi," he replied, closing the door behind him. He was...not smiling. He seemed a little bit shaken, to be honest.

"You okay?" I asked, hoping he understood. 

"Yeah, I'm just..." he gave a chuckle, rubbed the back of his neck. "I see where you get it from."

I raised an eyebrow. I wanted to ask, "Get what?" Usually, I compared myself more to my mother than my father, simply because I'd always known, always been told, that the two of us were too much alike, it was why we fought. I always thought my dad was much more flighty, and while that was fine, and I certainly had my own dreamy nature to contend with, there were enough differences between me and my dad that I didn't usually think about how I was like him. 

Tom walked a bit down the back pathway, deeper into the backyard. In the autumn evening, one could hear various noises -- televisions, dogs barking, some light traffic, the occasional loud voice of a child. In the desert, there was a limited amount of animal noises, but they were there, too. A coyote howling now and again, the occasional night bird. I found myself subconsciously comparing it all to London, sitting in Tom's backyard, in his arms, the cool summer air bringing with it all sorts of smells and sounds. 

And it dawned on me that that was possibly the very last peaceful moment we'd had before we'd slid into this rough patch that seemed to refuse to smooth out.

Abruptly, he turned around to face me. "Michelle, do I make you happy?"

Fear slid like water through my stomach and into my legs. I wanted to stand but momentarily couldn't. "Why...why would you need to ask me that?"

Tom sighed. "You know, we used to have a lot of fun. And...and I know that's part of the beginning, and I know that one can't expect that sort of thing to go on forever, but... honestly, ever since our fight in London, I feel like we've tilted and we can't seem to straighten out. And I know rough patches happen -- personally it's something I've always avoided, but since you and I got together...I'm just taking a lot of risks here, I'm way outside of my comfort zone and I have to know if anything I'm doing is worth anything, because it if isn't, then I don't want you to feel obligated to--"

I couldn't take any more. I stood up and strode over to him. "What did my dad say to you?"

Tom had his hands shoved into his pockets. "He's understandably protective. You and I come from two different worlds. I never saw that as a bad thing. And actually, the God's honest truth is that the conversation I've just had with your dad has been one of the most enlightening I've ever had in my life. It was like he saw right through me. Like he saw all the cracks in my armor, but he didn't punch through them. He just pointed to where they were." He turned, pacing a bit. "It's a big responsibility, what we're doing, but I also think we're overthinking things too much and we're forgetting to do, to be. You and I both get caught up in our own heads and..."He trailed off, running a hand over the back of his head again.

"Do you want to break up with me?" I barely breathed the words. I felt more like I'd just thought them really loudly. I had no time to wonder if he'd heard them because he spun on his heel.

"God no!" He came back to me, quickly. "That isn't what I'm saying. I mean, I know it sounds like it..."

I shook my head, reaching up and placing my fingers lightly over his mouth. "I'm sorry," I said.

"For what?" he asked, grasping my fingers gently.

"For putting you through your paces like this," I said. "You've...you've owned up to everything, Tom. You've been pushing your boundaries and taking risks I know terrify you, and I've been...I've been absolutely no help at all."

Tom shook his head. "I'm not saying anything against you--"

"No, you aren't, and I love you even more for it." I reached up, lacing my fingers together around his neck. I didn't hold too tight, afraid of penning him in. "You know, for so long, I wondered how in the hell people did it. How two people decided to be together, in a relationship, and how they went from deciding to actually doing. I watched my brother, I watched my parents, I still didn't get it. I watched friends, coworkers -- they made it look so easy, but I couldn't see the edges, I couldn't see where the pieces fit together."

Tom placed his hands lightly on my hips, drawing me closer to him.

"You said once that love is about acceptance," I said. "And Tom, I do accept you. I accept when you're grouchy, and I accept when you're distant, and I accept when you're loving and I accept when we're giggling like little kids and when we're hardly speaking to each other. No, I'm not going to approve of every little thing you do, or the things you've done in the past, but you've never given me a reason to distrust you. Even when I thought you had. And...you've accepted me. On levels I never dreamed anybody could."

I felt him pull me closer. I tightened my grip.

"My dad always said that the word 'happy' was a misnomer. Nobody's ever really happy in the present sense. I'm happy at my job, even when I have days where I want to quit and run from the building and never come back. Even though there's things about it I hate. I know each day I'm doing something worthy. I'm doing what I'm supposed to do, and the rewards far outweigh the trials. And Tom..." I drew a breath, emotion suddenly drawing tight in my chest, choking me up, but I had to push it out, "I feel that about you, too. Since London, and Cleveland...I'm happy every day that you came and talked sense into me. That you were patient enough and loved me enough to do that. And even when things have been tense this last month or so, I knew that this was part of it, that this was part of the ups and downs of two independent people. And our conversation last week...you owned up to it. Even thought I know it was hard. I know I came down on you kind of rough--"

He shook his head. "You said what you think. I always want you to do that, even if it's...out of order," he added with a quirk of the corner of his mouth.

"When I saw you waiting for me off the bus..." I smiled, tears starting to work their way along my lashes, "God, it made me so happy. That in spite of everything you were still there. That you still wanted to take care of me. And yes, I'm still stuck in that haze of passion and the thought of being separated from you depresses me most times...but the truth is, I worried about you...what I'm most afraid of is that I won't make //you// happy."

I could tell he was taking in my words. He stared over my head for a moment, then drew me closer into his arms, and I rested my head against his shoulder, my arms tight around his ribs. 

"I haven't changed my mind about anything, Michelle," he said, his voice a rumble against my ear. "I never tell a girl on the first date that I want to be serious about her. And maybe I'm also caught in the haze of excitement and passion and everything being different...but I want to know where it goes. And I know you do, too."

"I do," I agreed. 

I felt him chuckle. "Your dad...I know he doesn't trust me. But he's done me a good turn. How did he get so good at reading people?"

"He did your chart," I said, pulling back a bit to look up at him. "Didn't he let you read it?"

"Well, yeah, but...it was more than what was on a computer screen."

"You should know, though, that he doesn't think that sort of thing controls you. He uses it so people can gain insight into themselves and others. Sometimes it's a bit like fortune telling because of how accurate it can all feel. But his favorite saying is, 'To be forewarned is to be forearmed.' To which I always like to quip, 'I'm not growing two more arms, Dad.'"

Tom chuckled again, pulled me back to him. "You and I are too intellectual for our own good sometimes," he murmured.

"Yep."

"We're worried we're going to let something get away from us and it'll be disastrous if it does."

"Yes."

"But we really need to let go a bit."

"Yeah, a bit."

"I think we're good at that when we let ourselves."

I smiled up at him. "I love you so much, you know that, don't you?"

He ran his hand through my hair, threading his fingers through some of the locks, while the other arm tightened around my shoulders. "It's nice to hear."

\-------------------

"Sweetie," my mother said to us when we came back into the house, "it's too late for you two to head back to Los Angeles tonight."

Tom and I glanced at each other. "Do you have meetings on Monday morning?" I asked him.

Tom shook his head. "I cleared my schedule until Tuesday. That reminds me, did you make sure you were free on Wednesday?"

"Yeah, the meeting with your stylist, right?"

"Stylist?" my mom teased. "Fancy. You know this is the girl who didn't want to get her hair done for prom, right?"

Tom reached up and ran his fingers up from the underside of my hair. "It was probably all the product they'd have had to put in it."

"Oh, they did," I told him. "Mom dragged me to the salon and tied me to the chair."

"Who took you to prom?" Tom asked.

"My cousin," I grumbled, going to the fridge for some juice.

Tom's eyes immediately darkened. "Not Joey?"

"Not Joey!" I laughed. My mother laughed too.

"Oh, you met Joey, huh? Family heartthrob."

Tom grumbled under his breath as he went for a glass and took the juice from me, pouring it for both of us. 

"Okay, well, Tom, you're welcome to the guest room," Mom went on.

"Oh, no, Michelle should have it," he said, turning to me.

"Michelle doesn't like beds much, so good luck with that if you two ever get married," Mom said. "She'll take the couch. She always takes the couch when she's here."

I nodded, confirming everything.

"Very well then, thank you," Tom accepted graciously.

"I doubt much will fit you well because you're tall, but we have some of Mattie's old clothes, you could see if something of his will fit, for the night. And Michelle left a bunch of her old T-shirts here, I'm sure one of those will work in a pinch."

Tom nodded, but gave me a distinct questioning look.

"I'm used to winding up here on a moment's notice, so I always leave clothes," I explained. "My old T-shirts, when I was a bit bigger. I wore at least a 2X. You'll fit." I grasped his hand and headed for the stairs. I glanced back at my mother and her slightly tightened expression, but she said nothing to stop me.

At the top of the stairs, I turned left and headed right for the guest room. A bunch of my clothes were in the old bureau that had once been in my room. 

"When we get married, we're sleeping in the same bed," Tom said, a hint of a warning in his voice once we were alone in the guest room. "I don't care if I have to buy one of those sleep number beds or whatever fancy tech they develop, there are no two ways about it."

I did not miss that he said "when," not "if." "Wow, look who's going all traditional all of a sudden," I teased, finding the drawer with my shirts. "Oh, this one is perfect!"

It was a white T-shirt with black scroll down the front. It was a list of Shakespearean insults. I held it up for Tom's inspection.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, delighted. 

"Balboa Park in San Diego," I replied. "They have a replica of the Globe there, and they were selling the shirts."

Tom looked stunned. "That is something I didn't know."

"Well, whenever you're in San Diego it's to do Comic Con," I pointed out. "Maybe we should head down there some weekend, it's only a few hours drive."

"Hmmm..." He pulled off his shirt as I turned to look for Mattie's clothes in the bottom drawer. I couldn't help but sneak a look. 

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he mocked me gently as he pulled the white shirt down. He was grinning.

"I would, but then somebody would hack my phone for shirtless Tom Hiddleston," I shot back. "Dammit."

"What?"

"Mattie's clothes aren't here." I went out into the hall and shouted down the stairs. "MOM! Where are Mattie's old clothes?"

"Ummm..." I heard my mother reply, "I think...in the basement."

"What are they doing there?"

"Ask Mattie, he did it!"

I grunted, turned to Tom who had emerged from the guest room, but had lifted the tail of the shirt and was sniffing it.

"Smells like you, still," he noticed.

"I did wear it a lot," I said.

"Why didn't you take it with you?"

"Not many opportunities to wear it." A slow grin started to spread across my face. "Why don't you keep it?"

He raised his head to me, and just as slowly, a smile started to appear on his lips. "Mmm...aren't I the one who's supposed to give you a shirt to wear?"

"None of your shirts would ever fit me," I said with a firm shake of my head. "Come on, we've gotta go into the basement."

\-------------------

"To be honest," Tom said as we were talking down the stairs, "I was worried when you said you'd give me a T-shirt to wear that I'd end up with something with hearts and flowers on it, or a cat."

"Would a cat be so bad?" I asked, thinking of one of my favorites, an adorable black cat with big round spectacles, it's paw on an open book. I was planning to wear it tonight. 

He chuckled. "Shakespeare is better."

"Naked is better, according to you," I taunted. He scrunched his nose at me, then noticed something. 

"What is that?" He pointed.

I glanced over into the corner. A low table was covered with a piece of tarp. 

"The table? It's a ping-pong table."

"Table tennis?" Tom asked excitedly. He practically skipped to the table and lifted up one end of the tarp. "Do you have paddles and balls as well?"

"Yeah, it's all there. We keep it covered to keep the dust off." I located a pair of sweatpants folded up on the old couch, on top of a bunch of Mattie's other clothes, wondering what he'd been thinking. They were wide around the waist and at least a half foot too short. I figured Tom could make due for one night. Maybe we'd just cut off the ankles so they'd fit better. Then I could tease him that he looked like the Hulk. 

"Do you play, or is this Mattie's as well?"

"Mattie and I would play all the time, before...well, before life," I said. "It's been years."

"We have to play," Tom said, pulling off the tarp.

"Now? It's kind of late. Mom's already dressed for bed and she'll have a fit if we get all hyper playing that. Mattie and I would tear each other apart on that thing."

"Tomorrow then," he said. "We can get up, take your parents to breakfast if they'd like, and then come back here and play a few rounds before heading back to Los Angeles. How does that sound?"

I nodded, yawning. "Here, see if these will work. Please WAIT until I'm out of the room before you pull down your pants!"

"Aww, where's the fun in that?" Tom mockingly bemoaned as I turned away and headed up the stairs. 

\-----------------

I was wakened by the sound of crunching. I turned, realizing someone was sitting on the floor, right in front of the couch, his wide shoulders hemming me in. I know I bumped him. And there was only one other occupant in the house who had shoulders like that. 

"Tom?" I murmured.

He turned his head, his profile dark in the light of the television. "Oh, good, you're awake."

"What are you..." I sat up and looked around. It was still very, very early. We had gone to bed only an hour or so after we'd finally gotten the legs of Mattie's old sweats trimmed so that Tom's long legs could fit in them -- and yes, he did look like the Hulk, at first, but then Tom had rolled up the flappy sections and managed to knot them so that they fit his legs much more snugly, just above the knee. In the end, he did not look ridiculous. Rather, he'd looked like he was getting ready to go for a run. 

Tom turned more fully, so I could see what he was doing. Eating a bowl of cereal, it looked like. The spoon rested on the edge of the bowl, under Tom's thumb. He was grinning at me.

"Sorry. I was a bit restless." He blushed a bit. "The smell of the T-shirt...kept distracting me. I finally had to take it off. And I went for a run this morning -- your dad is an early riser, he let me out. And I usually get hungry early, so he let me at the cereal stash your mom keeps for your niece. He warned me not to wake you up directly, that you'd bite my head off, so instead I thought I'd sit here and watch TV until you woke."

"I could hear you crunching," I groused, but I was smiling, a little. "Lucky Charms?"

"Just Cheerios," Tom replied. "Not too much, I know we're going to breakfast in a few hours, when your dad gets up. Want some, to tide you over?"

"We're going to breakfast? Did you--"

"Already suggested it, Dad even had the place in mind. Something called 'The Only Place In Town?'"

I grinned. "Yup. Sounds like Dad. He's warming up to you." I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. Tom's eyes drifted down to my chest and he gave a little chuckle.

I glanced down at the little black cat with the gold spectacles. "I'm assuming you're not laughing at my breasts---"

"Oh, I would never do that!" Tom laughed.

"--so it must be the cat."

"I never took you for a cat person."

"Allergies," I admitted. "But yes, I am a dog person. But this was too cute. Iris gave it to me, actually, the first present she ever gave me when she and my brother started dating." I tugged at the green fabric. "Too big on me now, but it works as a sleep shirt."

I shifted on the couch, and Tom got up, sitting down next to me, his cereal bowl on the coffee table. Feeling suddenly vulnerable, I reached for him and pulled him down, so that his head was cradled against me, perhaps a bit closer to my chest than I should have, but there was a blanket between us, and under him, so it wasn't like he was on top of me. I just needed him closer for the moment.

"You okay?" he asked, looking up at me. 

I wrapped my arm around his neck and shoulders, pulling him tight. "I just...feel bad. I'm so sorry."

"About what?" he chuckled again.

"You've been through the wringer with me this last week. I'm surprised we haven't broken up. Or that you didn't storm out of here last night."

He just gazed up at me, thoughtfully. Absentmindedly, I ran the fingers of my other hand down the side of his face. He closed his eyes at my touch, turning slightly and inhaling the scent from the blankets and my clothes.

"It hasn't been easy," he said softly. "But in all fairness, I did practically ignore you for almost a month."

I grunted a bit at that. He was right.

He opened his eyes. "But I guess that just goes to show. After all that, we still want to be together. We still want each other."

I nodded. 

He reached up, his fingers enclosing on the hummingbird pendant that I still wore around my neck. I rarely took it off -- I even showered with the thing on, most days. 

"I remember..." he murmured.

"What?"

"When I found you in Cleveland," he said, his fingers twirling the little gemmed bird lightly. "When I approached you, when you turned around. The light caught on these." He set it down against my collarbone, brushed the pad of his index finger against the gems. "I saw you were wearing it. That was when I knew I hadn't come for nothing."

I remembered being shocked at finding I was still wearing the thing. I'd never taken it off, not when I left London, not the entire three days. At first I didn't notice it, I had gotten so used to it that I didn't pay attention. But that morning, before Tom arrived, I had caught a glimpse of it in the mirror, and asked myself if I should take it off. I couldn't motivate myself to do it. So I just tucked it under my shirt and moved on. It must have come out later in the day.

"I love you," he whispered. 

"I love you too," I replied, and leaned down to kiss him.

\-------------------

Eventually, Mom got up and we headed out for breakfast. It was only ten when we got there, and on a Monday morning business was slow, so we had the restaurant mostly to ourselves. 

I was pleased to see that Tom had dialed down that Hiddleston charm and was being more natural around my parents. The longer I knew him, the easier it became to differentiate between when he was putting on his best face, and when he was just being himself. Tom was very good at molding himself to fit whatever circumstances he found himself in, and most of the time he just let the positive and charismatic aspects of his true self out to play. There was, however, a more quiet and introspective side to him; he was an excellent listener, and he liked to learn about other people and what made them tick.

Which sometimes came across as flirting. Like he was doing with my mother.

"Honest to God, I don't know where Michelle gets it from," Mom said when the subject of my career came up. "Well, that's not entirely true. Both she and her dad are huge bookworms."

"But surely she gets her kitchen creativity from you," Tom said. "After the meal we had last night."

Mom smirked. "Yes, I do like to play around in the kitchen. My mother was an awful cook, God-love-her. She boiled it or she cooked it until it was too hard to chew."

"Comes from being Polish," I pointed out. "They boil everything."

"So when it was my turn I was determined to make food that actually tasted good," Mom went on. "And it helped that William wasn't terribly picky. He'd try anything once. Wasn't shy about telling me he didn't like something, either, until I taught him better." She winked at him.

"Did you teach Michelle?"

"Some of it," my mother replied. 

"One of those classes I told you about," I said to Tom. "Cooking and origami. Dad made sure I got them."

"We both love books," Dad pointed out, "but not about the same things. When you were in elementary school you wanted to be a paleontologist."

Tom brightened at that. We'd talked about dinosaurs at length, both of us having adored the whole Jurassic Park franchise, especially the first one, entirely too much. A string of our movie nights had been a marathon, including the new one, Jurassic World. 

"She had more stuff than you could imagine," Mom said. "Especially the models. We still have those in the basement, waiting to give it to one of the kids when they're old enough."

"You didn't take it with you?" Tom asked.

"No room," I replied. "I had plastic resin models, I had wooden models, I had everything. Too much space. Although I do have some of the books, you've seen them."

"And then in high school all that got replaced by anatomy books," Dad said.

"It was that high school anatomy class that changed your mind," Mom added. "I'd never seen you so interested in anything school related. Until then you'd pretty much hated school."

I shrugged. Tom squeezed my hand. 

"If anyone has a medical question, they go to Michelle," Mom declared. "She's our resident doctor. She could have been a real doctor if--"

"Helen," Dad warned in a light sing-song.

Mom caught herself. "Anyway. She's happy where she is, that's what's important."

I knew the song and dance. They were well rehearsed.

"And speaking of happy," Dad said, changing the subject, "a toast. To the future."

Tom smiled graciously, lifted his glass of orange juice along with the rest of us. I winked at him. 

"You do know that you're the first guy she's ever brought home, right?" Mom said. 

"I have been told something similar to that," Tom agreed.

Dad shook his head. "Well, good thing Kevin's already married," he said, more to himself than to us. 

"Kevin?" Tom asked.

"William." It was Mom's turn to sound the warning bell.

"Sorry," Dad muttered.

Tom turned to me with a scowl. I shrugged, sighed. "A guy who had a thing for me," I said.

"More than a thing," Dad said. "Poor guy."

"Who is this?" Tom asked, one eyebrow scrunching in my direction.

"Kevin," I repeated. "What? He wasn't a boyfriend or anything. But he had issues dealing."

"He didn't stalk you or anything?" Tom asked, a tone in his voice only I heard.

"Oh, no," came the resounding answer from around the table.

"When I was in college," I explained, leaning toward Tom, "a bunch of my friends decided that I needed to meet him because we were both from Victorville. And we became friends, but he felt more for me than I did for him. And we hung out for a bit during the last two years of college but it never got off the ground, we never dated. But everyone," and here I gave my dad a particularly dirty look, "likes to torment me about it because they think it's funny that he pined after me as long as he did. Like unrequited love is somehow funny."

"Ouch," Dad murmured.

Mom just gave him a look. 

"And you never told me about this before because...?" Tom trailed off.

"It wasn't a relationship. And he got married like two years ago, so I was just happy he finally found someone."

Tom was still looking at me oddly.

"Oh, do not tell me you're jealous," I said seriously.

"No, not jealous. Just...curious."

"I know," Dad chimed in. "She comes across as Miss Sweetness but she's got a few sharp edges, make sure you don't cut yourself on them."

"You're one to talk," I snapped.

Dad held up his hands. "Where do you think you get it from?"

\-----------------------------

It was almost eleven. We needed to be on the road within the next few hours, I thought, or else the day was lost. But Tom was more determined than ever to play "table tennis," as he called it. 

"So what else is there about you that I don't know, other than the fact that you're a heartless tease?" he said, bouncing the ping pong ball with his fingers against the table.

"Heartless tease?" I barked, slapping my paddle down. "I was not heartless! Heartless would have been letting the poor guy think he had a chance, when I was pretty damn clear, clear enough to get through a man's thick skull, that I had no feelings for him outside of friendship."

Tom shrugged. "Why not? What was wrong with him?"

I considered for a moment. "He was boring."

"Boring?"

I nodded, then shrugged. "I don't know. That's what comes to mind. He just didn't spark anything in me. He didn't made my stomach go all fluttery."

"Or any other parts of you," Tom murmured slyly.

I sighed. "Why is this a problem for you? It's not like I pined after him. It's not like you have any competition."

"Did you have any boyfriends between...between when I knew you and when we got together?"

"I already told you no. I didn't count Kevin because he was never my boyfriend."

"How about any others who wanted the honor but couldn't get it?"

"I've been hit on a half dozen times, but that was probably more about sex than a relationship. Maybe two guys in college honestly asked me out. One date each and we were done. There was this guy taking pilot classes I kind of liked but then I found out he was a pothead and that sort of killed it." I sighed again. "You know, Tom, you're not the only one in this relationship who's going places he's never been before."

"Yes, but I've been interested in other women. I'm just...surprised that you haven't at least had interest in--"

It was probably my pinched face that stopped him from talking. 

"Not everyone is as fortunate as you to be so attractive to the opposite sex," I said, my voice suddenly very tight. I turned away, fiddling with the tarp we'd moved off the table.

Then he was there, his hands on my arms, rubbing gently.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't...I wasn't thinking."

"After...after you," I said, drawing a heavy breath, "I sort of...closed up. I mean," I added, seeing his distressed expression, "I just didn't want to try much. I didn't want to put myself out there. And it seemed the only guys who were interested were guys I wasn't interested in. Maybe it was a pattern, I don't know. Maybe it was the unattainable aspect of it that drew me, but regardless, it seemed that whoever I wanted, didn't want me. Or at least I never had the courage to find out if they might. I figured if they were interested, they'd say something. None of them ever did."

"I'm...I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"It is, in a way," he said. "I damaged your self-confidence."

"You didn't," I insisted. "I mean, you didn't do it intentionally. Besides, everyone has to face rejection. You've faced it so many times in your career, I know. I just...didn't have the stomach for it, I guess. I let myself give up."

"No," Tom insisted. "Anyone with a shred of taste would have been chasing after you just like your poor Kevin."

"Then what does that say about me, that I was never interested in anybody who ever pursued me?"

"That you were waiting for the right one," Tom said. "That you weren't going to settle."

"You mean I was waiting for you," I said, a hint of laughter in my voice. 

"Just like I was waiting for you," he replied, dead serious.

I stepped closer to him, and his arms drew me in tight, so tight. 

"I'm not a big believer in fate," I said quietly. "But I do think some things are meant to be."

"But they're not just handed to you," Tom pointed out. "You have to work for them, even after you have them." I felt his lips in my hair. Then he tilted my chin up and kissed me, and with a twinkle in his eyes, he said, "Just like how I'm going to have to work to beat you at table tennis."

I arched an eyebrow. "Care to make a wager on that, Mr. Confidence?"

There was a distinctly wicked glint in how he looked at me then. "Well, if we must keep it clean, I could think of something."

\----------------------------

I kicked his ass.

Not just lightly, but thoroughly. I wondered, through the first game, if he was letting me win. I knew Tom's upper body strength was superior to mine, and he was faster than me, but I'd been playing this with Mattie since we were kids and I knew how to play against a guy. 

Neither of us ever failed to return a serve, but after about five or six bounces across the net, Tom would get mildly frazzled and eventually he'd miss. The first game, I crushed him. The second, he seemed to catch up and the margin was much more narrow, and he managed to beat me by one point. The third game started off close, and he almost got ahead of me, but then I wacked three balls straight across the net because he seemed mildly hypnotized --

And then I realized I had one button too many undone on my blouse. I hadn't even noticed it. That morning I'd pulled on the shirt, and I know it had been buttoned throughout breakfast, but apparently the lower button had come off during our game, and some of me was showing.

"That wasn't fair," he said when I scored my last point and won. 

"You should have said something at the beginning of the game!" I cried, pulling the shirt together to hide myself. "Or whenever it happened!"

"It happened at the beginning of the third game," Tom admitted. "Must have been all that leaning."

"And you said nothing, why?" I demanded, one hand on my hip, the other holding the blouse in a fist.

"I..." He turned a very bright shade of pink.

"You," I prompted, and then shook my head, too flattered to be disgusted. "You were enjoying the view."

He couldn't answer. "Go change your shirt and we'll play one more game."

"It's noon, Tom. And you already got your peek show, so let's just head home. I know my parents want their peace and quiet back."

"No, one more game!" he whined. 

I sighed. "I won. Get over it." I turned and headed up the stairs, calling over my shoulder, "Put it back and cover it up!"

"Same to you!" he shouted back at me, and I couldn't help but giggle.

\-------------------------

The only other thing I could find was a V-neck T-shirt, a souvenir from Santa Barbara, pale blue and stained, a reason why I never wore it anymore. Not much better than the blouse, but at least a button wouldn't come flying off. I considered wearing the cat T-shirt, but it was really too large, billowing around my hips more like a dress. Stains or size, I couldn't win. But after giving Tom too much of a peek maybe I needed to downplay my irresistibility. 

He appeared in the doorway about ten minutes later, still a bit pink. "All right, what's your price?"

I snorted. "You mean for winning?"

He shrugged. "I still call foul. But I can be gracious. What do you want?"

"Oh, poor baby. The worst I'll probably do to you is make you watch a Back To The Future marathon with me."

He seemed surprised. "That's all?"

"What? You thought I'd have more insidious plans?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "I just thought...oh come on," he said, dropping his hand, stepping closer to me. "You can do better than that."

I eyed him. "Like what? Like you would have done if you won?"

That grin on his face...

"Okay," I said suddenly, turning on him. "I do have something."

His expression brightened. "Oh?"

"Yes. The Hollow Crown. The last one, Henry the Fifth. That scene where you kiss the princess, Kate."

"Where Henry kisses the princess," he corrected me.

I rolled my eyes. "Looked like you."

"What about it?" Still grinning that grin.

"I've always wanted somebody to kiss me like that."

"Oh?" He stepped closer, eye gleaming. "That did it for you, yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

"You realize that most of that is stage work," Tom said, although that expression did not leave his face. "Cameras are easy to fool."

"I can usually spot it," I said. "That kiss looked more genuine than most. Especially the way you were sucking on her lip when you pulled back."

"Hmm..." I knew I was skirting dangerous territory, but after all this drama, I wanted that spark back. And the way he looked at me in these moments was more addictive than crack. "All right. You want the whole scene or just the kiss?"

"Maybe you need a running start. I want the whole experience, not some cheap knock off."

He chuckled, and the wickedness that danced in his eyes made a surge of electricity coil through my stomach. He stepped right up to me, so that I had to lift up my chin to keep eye contact, but he, very gently, nudged my head back down.

"No, she's looking down when I start. She doesn't want to let me kiss her. You didn't even kiss before marriage in France in those days. I can see why you like this scene."

I looked down at his chest. He was wearing the same white shirt from yesterday, Mom had tossed it in the washer for him after we'd gotten back from breakfast. Then, very delicately, he lifted his hand and rested it under my chin, prompting it upward.

"Nice customs curtsey before great kings," he said in exactly the same tone as he had before, then he lowered his mouth to mine.

Admittedly, it was a very chaste kiss, but he took his time with it. I don't think he quite kissed the actress the way he was kissing me, but I found myself closing my eyes nevertheless. 

It reminded me, very much, of how he'd kissed me outside that soda fountain on our very first date. Hesitant, gentle, but very much invested. The taste of him filled my senses, and I wanted, God how I wanted to reach up and grab his face and yank him closer, to hell and damnation with the fact that I was in my parents' house...

But I restrained myself. I felt him start to pull back, and wound up following for a few millimeters, until he smacked away, and I felt my upper lip vibrate and the impressions of how he'd sucked on it very lightly rippled through me. I blinked my eyes open, suddenly having trouble focusing, and that smug grin appeared on his face. 

"I think we're even now," he whispered, more breath than sound.

I opened my mouth but there was a step in the hallway, and Tom jerked back, just like Henry had in the movie, and if he'd had a crown he would have rushed to pull it on. I know the thought went through his head as our eyes met, sharing that funny little secret, before my mother appeared.

"Shelly, I've been meaning to give this back to you," she said, holding a white jewelry box. It was large, the width and length of the palm of her hand, but covered with faux leather. "I know it's been absolutely forever, but it's been fixed."

I gave myself a mental shake, just as Mom popped open the box.

"You remember this, don't you?"

Three letters sparkled up at me from inside the jewelry box - M, O, and T. Each one about a dollar-coin size, each one covered with Swarovski crystal. Each one strung on a fine silvery chain.

"T - O - M?" Tom said, looking over my shoulder at it.

I blinked. "No, M, O and T. For my name. Michelle Olivia Taggert."

Tom gave a little jerk. Then he reached down and rearranged the letters. "You realize your initials are my name backwards, don't you?"

My mother gave a little giggle-snort. "Sounds like destiny to me," she quipped.

Tom took the box from her, his face lit up like the fourth of July. "Oh my God, you are totally wearing this at the premiere. I don't care who I have to bribe."

"Tom, I am not -- I am not wearing your name! That's so tacky!"

"It's adorable!" he shot back. 

"Mom, seriously, don't you think that's a bit much?"

She held up her hands, backed out of the room. "Don't ask me, sweetie, I have absolutely no idea about anything fashionable these days."

"You're wearing this," Tom said, pulling the necklace out of the box. "Get over here."

"Gah! No! That's...that's from when I was sixteen! I pined for months over that and then got it for my birthday and I wore it all the frickin' time until I went away to college. And then during my sophomore year someone made fun of it and I tried to take it off and one of the little rings broke and my mom insisted on getting it fixed but she -- well obviously it wasn't meant to be."

"And now you're with me and your initials spell my name backwards," Tom countered. "Come here."

I couldn't exactly deny that tone he was using. I turned and let him slide the necklace over my neck. It was much lighter than it looked, although the letters hung down my collarbone and dangled just above my cleavage. Tom grasped my shoulders and turned me around.

"Hmm," he said with a salacious grin, "we don't even need to get the letters reversed, I can just look at you upside down."

I was going to punch him in the gut. He must have seen my face darken because he toned it down. "Teasing, love, just teasing. But I adore it. You have to wear it. Please?"

I let out my breath in a raspy huff. 

"Come on." Oh puppy eyes, how long was it since I'd seen you last? "Please? After that debacle of a table tennis game? And I did what you wanted -- "

"Seems to me," I growled, "that you seem to keep getting the better of all these situations and then want to play the pity card, like you deserve any."

His hands found my shoulders from the front and pulled me closer to him. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You get to look down my shirt, you get to kiss me, and you get to ogle my breasts. Sounds like a good day for you."

"The best in a very long time, if you say yes," he said, with that smile made of radiant glory and every good thing imaginable. 

With a great, heaving, noisy exhale, I finally said, "Fine."

I was rewarded with a kiss even better than the one the princess ever got.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, I want them to stay together but my subconscious keeps trying to break them up. I just can't seem to stay way from the angst.


End file.
